


Sympathy

by Val_Creative



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crying, Family, Friendship, Gen, Graphic Description of Corpses, Heavy Angst, Introspection, Number Five | The Boy Needs A Hug, Season/Series 01, Trauma, Umbrella Academy - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2020-01-01 06:23:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18330404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Creative/pseuds/Val_Creative
Summary: "Five, are youcrying—"





	Sympathy

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted some sad soft angst with Five and his family! Here we go! Crossing my fingers you guys like it! Any comments totally appreciated!

 

*

A cold drizzle of rainwater trickles against Five's scalp. He wanders under the stone gazebo.

Five never used to think much of it. Barely fit one person and over time would be overrun by weeds and poison ivy if the hired hands by Sir Reginald or Pogo didn't maintain the grassy landscape of the Academy's courtyard. To him, that seems to be more trouble than it's all worth.

(Besides, Five often took to his studies with mandatory education and theories of quantum physics _indoors_.)

The stone-layered gazebo had been the _only_ thing left standing when Five ran back home. He remembers coughing and hacking, breathing in the soot. He whirled around, shouting again for Vanya, for Ben.

Hot pieces of ash clung to Five's damp, trembling lashes. His nail beds and to the tip of his tongue.

Eventually he discovered the corpses of his family, one-by-one. Most of their deaths could be amounted to hemorrhaging out or being crushed alive by the smoking, cinder-crusted debris. At the time, Five couldn't broaden his mind around the possibility. That he had somehow accidentally time-jumped into the _future_ where he did not exist. Where humanity _died_ so meaninglessly.

Remembers howling out in anguish and terror and rage, Five's thirteen-year-old back straining as he pulled and dragged Luther's body out, huffing. The pulsing, constant stabs of agony.

They all buried Ben in the courtyard, so Five buried them the same. Right in front of the gazebo.

Five opens his eyes, banishing the memories of emptiness surrounding him for miles and the roiling, uncontrollable flames. His dark hair flattening down with rain. He stares down vacantly at the ground, feeling the wet, fresh soil sinking under Five's weight. They lie _here_.

Or they _will_ … if he can't stop the apocalypse from happening again.

(He never could find Vanya. Five searched for days, high and low, tearing and scratching and bleeding his palms open on the rubble. She would have been the one _without_ their umbrella-tattoo. But, considering it, Vanya perhaps had been buried too _deep_ for Five to reach her.)

Glancing up and sensing Allison behind him, Five takes in a quiet, steadying breath. Those old emotions welling up. He blinks his eyes rapidly and drags a sleeve under his nose.

"Five?" Allison joins him, lowering her umbrella. He doesn't understand why she still _hunches_ in private. During her movie premieres and interviews, Allison gives off flawless posture, her chin lifted as she gives professional, handsome smiles. Confidence. Beauty. _Superiority_.

And even still, with no stagelights and reporters, she hunches in her fitted, grey-pinstriped pants and the miniature-sized sapphire camisole beneath a pleated, diamond-white coat.

"Five, are you _crying_ —"

"Irrelevant," Five grumbles, stiffly walking around her.

Allison makes an irritated noise, grabbing onto his wrist — _she's dead, DEAD, Five stumbles back, vomiting into the ruins until he's quivering and sweating, Allison's head and neck intact while the rest of her gleams a blood-saturated, gory mush of organs and bones and sinew in the peeks of sunlight_ — and Five jerks out of the traumatic flashback, and Allison's grip, yelling at the top of his lungs.

She puts up her hand that reached for him defensively, staring horrorstruck as Five mutters to himself, to calm down, rubbing his fingers over his nose and mouth.

"Hey, whoa. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Five." Allison tells him, "I didn't… I _haven't_ seen you this upset before. I…"

Klaus stumbles out of the parlor-entrance to the courtyard. It seems like he's thrown on a distressed, long black nightshirt fluttering against Klaus's hairy and knobby knees. It's printed on the front with a pale crescent moon. A black spaghetti tank-top beneath it. Black fishnets. Grudge boots with huge, black-leather buckles. "Guys, have you seen Diego? He was supposed to drive me out to—"

Allison sighs, watching him curtly. "I hope it's rehab."

He doesn't response, at first confused, trying to process the view of Five's scrunched features, his watery, red-rimmed eyes. Five purposely looks away from the other man, gritting his jaw.

"Oh, no way," Klaus murmurs. "Is he _crying_?"

"What is the _matter_ with you both? Don't you have something _BETTER_ to do?"

There's silence before Allison and Klaus meet gazes together, declaring, " _yeah!_ " and then proceed to open their arms, hugging a thrashing and sneering Five between them. He doesn't fight them for long, panting, listening to Klaus hum out a comforting note, shushing Five, pushing his fingers messily through Five's dark, soaked hair as a frowning Allison smooths a hand up and over Five's back.

He doesn't want to bury them, Five tells himself, rainwater dripping down his cheeks.

Not _again_.

*

 


End file.
